Daybreak
by Holiday Thorne
Summary: When Carmilla LeNauf moves to Forks, Washington from Buffalo, New York, everything will change. Eternally. (No Bella, different Twilight than you're used to)
1. Prologue: Silent Killer

**Full description: Long ago, before human memory, there were vampires. But they are not the kind that you know; they were the Original Vampires, the _Vetus Est_. However, as time passed, the _Vetus Est_ began to die out, especially with the birth of the Cold Ones; the Cold Ones, while not possessing the same abilities and strengths as the _Vetus Est_ , had next to no weaknesses, in addition to having very little control over their instincts, and so they began to wipe out the Originals.  
Many centuries later, the _Vetus Est_ have been mostly forgotten by the supernatural world, with the only evidence of their existence the legends humanity have.  
But they are not entirely extinct: a nomadic vampire named Carmilla LeNauf is one of the last _Vetus Est_ in existence, and she has survived on her own for over sixteen hundred years without raising suspicions or risking her existence.  
But when she moves to Forks Washington, things will change. Forever.**

 **Disclaimer: I, Holiday Thorne, author extraordinaire, do not own _Twilight_ , nor do I own the many mythologies in different cultures that have created the _Vetus Est_ , or Original Vampires. However, I do own Carmilla LeNauf and most of the plot.**

* * *

 ** _Daybreak_**

 **Prologue**  
 _ **Silent Killer**_

 ** _Who is the betrayer?  
_** ** _Who's the killer in the crowd?  
_** ** _The one who creeps in corridors  
_** ** _And doesn't make a sound  
_** ** _-Heavy in Your Arms, Florence and the Machine_**

 _Many, many, many years ago . . ._

Licking her scarlet painted lips, the woman, dressed in a burgundy and silver dress that clung to her upper torso, accentuating her hourglass curves, and flared off at her hips to end in rippling pools of vividly dyed fabric, eyed the man hiding in an obscure corner of the alleyway hungrily.

His hair was disheveled, messy from his terrified run from the hunter, and the terror, evident in the way he panted for breath, the expression on his young face, the way his dark eyes watched his surroundings warily, made her throat ache that much more with her thirst. Everything about this one, from the hoarse whispers of his breathing to the unsteady pounding beats of his heart, made her thirstier. And his scent . . . mm, absolutely and utterly _divine_.

She stood above him, her prey, perched in the shadows of the roof of a church overlooking the city, under its cover of midnight murky blackness. It was nighttime, almost midnight according to her internal clock, the time when it was the safest for her to leave the shadows.

When the young man had at last relaxed, believing himself to be out of the throes of danger at long last, it was in that moment she decided to strike.

Moving in a graceful blur, she leapt from the ledge she had been neatly balanced upon, landing in a crouch reminiscent of a large feline mid-hunt. Despite the height from which she had dropped, the woman's landing was nearly silent, save a whisper of fabrics that could not be heard by human ears, and she was entirely unaffected by the height she had dropped from, straightening into a standing position.

Her hair, gentle ringlets of ebony black, fell down her back in a smooth waterfall of darkness and shadow, falling down to her mid-back uninterrupted; her brows of the same color were gentle arches of pristine elegance above her almond shaped eyes of almost unnatural color. The irises of her cat-like eyes were of a vivid, fiery ginger-orange color, with flecks of gold scattered about in the molten color. Her skin was pale, the color of winter snow with gentle splashes of light coral pink across her high, almost elfin cheeks in a healthy blush - despite the pallor of her skin; her features, formed of the sculpted marble of her skin, were almost delicate, ethereal in that they were unnaturally beautiful. And yet her beauty was tainted by an aura of what seemed to be danger.

The way she strode towards the man cowering in the corner of the alleyway, comfortable despite her bare feet, was much like the smooth gait of a lion hunting a gazelle, timid and fragile, and the look upon her face was entirely of the predatory nature, a terrifying hunger burning in the molten recesses of her liquid orange irises. The grace with which she moved was the walk of a hunter, accustomed to stalking its prey with light feet and swift movements.

At last, the woman stepped into the thrown light from the oil lamp hanging nearby, the man let out a soft squeak of fear, recognizing his death incarnate into a humanoid form. Before the squeak the man let tumble from his lips could blossom into a fully-fledged scream, and therefore run the risk of alerting someone to her hunt, the woman lunged at him, tearing into his throat with long, sharp ivory fangs that suddenly elongated from behind her lips.

Despite the ferocity with which she tore into her meal, not a single drop of the crimson life-blood she was drinking spilled; every drop of the man's blood landed in her mouth, consumed and devoured in her haste and inhumane hunger for the substance pumped through his body by his heart.

As she gulped down the crimson liquid, sweet and almost saccharine to her tastes, the man sagged in her deathly embrace, an expression of peaceful bliss settling languidly upon his features. His dark eyes sagged, fluttering closed as he surrendered himself to the pleasure of a vampire's kiss of death, and his heart's puttering beats began to slow, eventually stopping to end in sudden silence that echoed in her ears as she pulled away, licking the stray droplets of blood from the corners of her scarlet lips before they could fall and stain her skin or her elegant clothing, kept in pristine cleanliness despite her strenuous activities.

The vampiric woman allowed the man's body to fall from her grip, narrowing her eyes at the corpse and smirking in victory when it abruptly caught on fire, the flames a startling blue with white edges as it burned indescribably hot. It seemed she still had it.

Within seconds, the corpse had been reduced to ash that was quickly scattered on a gentle gust of wind, and the flames extinguished as abruptly as they had begun. As if nature itself was helping the woman to conceal her vampiric existence, it began to rain, starting out as a gentle drizzle, a soft pitter-patter of rain against the cobblestone streets, before morphing into a steady downpour, a constant, forceable drumming.

But the woman never noticed the change in the weather, nor the way the ashes of the man were blown away on the breaths of the wind; her electric, gingery-orange eyes were fixed on an adjacent street, down which she could sense a disturbance - a Cold One.

She was determined to ignore the presence of the creature, both for her own protection and a disinterest in the chaos it was no doubt soon to wreak; it had nothing to do with her, unless it threatened to expose vampires to the humans. She really didn't feel like cleaning up its mess so that the Volturi, self-stated "royalty" of the vampire (Cold Ones) world, wouldn't come to clean up. If they were to come into the city, they would smell her scent, realize there were still _Vetus Est_ around and hunt her down. That is something that she would rather avoid happening; while possessing an advantage over the Cold Ones with her special abilities, the Volturi were large enough that fighting them was not an option that she desired to become reality if there was any other way.

But her determination was shattered like a pane of glass under the force of a thrown stone when she heard the shrieks of human terror, followed mere seconds later by the tantalizing scent of spilt blood; the allure of the blood was easy to resist, having just hunted and being of a species of vampire that had much more control of its instincts than the Cold Ones. She raced in the direction that the disturbance was in at a speed that was just above the average speed of a Cold One (much less than her own kind's average speed), having pinpointed its exact location easily enough after a moment of concentration.

When she was about a block away, she reduced her speed to a human one, sensing a large number of human presences up ahead. As a second precaution, she changed the color of her eyes to a vivid blue, the shade of sapphires twinkling in the brilliant light of the sun, and made her skin darker, the color of caramel with undertones of henna brown to make herself seem more human; there was nothing she could do about her inhuman beauty, though. But the darkness should help her to hide the beauty.

She walked at a quick speed for a human and rounded the corner. She noticed several things all at once: there was a man, blonde, young, and attractive for a human, lying on the ground, a gaping bite mark oozing blood slowly - still alive, as well (she winced); a Cold One, ancient and thirsty, was attacking the other humans, in defense of himself it seemed; there was an entire mob of humans trying to attack the creature, holding pitchforks and torches as stereotypical mobs do; and there were more Cold Ones lying in wait beneath the streets - in the sewers.

She moved into action instantly; she kicked the Cold One away from the human it was about to drink from, causing it to stumble back a few feet - mostly from surprise, as these creatures possessed bodies similar in make up to stone and she wasn't using her entire strength. She called out softly, gently for the mob to run, and though they were hunting the creature they had discovered, they did as she said - both bewitched by her and terrified by the snarling creature behind her.

Once the humans were out of range to hear what was to happen next, the woman released the seal that held most of her powers at bay, knowing she would need them if she was to defeat the coven of Cold Ones. Immediately, the creature before her recoiled, its nostrils flaring as it scented the power radiating off of her - the power of a _Vetus Est_.

She drew her knee into her chest and kicked the stunned Cold One back, sending it hurtling into the brick wall about ten feet behind it; the humans could not have chosen a better place for a showdown between vampires.

Before the Cold One could recover from the sudden strike, she appeared behind it and wrenched its head off easily before setting the corpse alight with the same blue and white-tinged flames she had used minutes earlier.

With a cry of despair and anger, a few Cold Ones erupted from their hiding place beneath the sewer cover, flying at the woman who was watching the light violet smoke rise from the Cold One's burning corpse, but before they could come anywhere near her, she whirled around and flicked her wrist, causing all of them to burst into flames, killing them almost instantly.

Once her job had finished, she wiped her hands off on the brick wall, hoping to wipe away the stink of Cold One - a disgusting, perfumed incense that made her sick to her stomach, and turned to look at the man lying in the streets, bleeding still.

She scooped him up into her arms, ignoring his quiet protests, and she used her teleportation abilities to return to her home, a small cave in a mountain a couple thousand (or so) miles away from the city, invisible to passerby unless they knew what they were looking for.

It was furnished well, an indulgence to her extravagant tastes, and she set the changing man upon one of her spare beds - just in case of an emergency or the ruination of the bed she used most often. She quickly gathered a cloth, a bowl of cool water, and some bandages, scavenging in her meager supplies of first aid items; she tended to get into fights and accidents quite often, and she needed to stock up again - especially if this man was to take a while.

As she wet the rag and folded it over his forehead, she wondered why she was going to such an extent for this man, this human - though he would soon be a Cold One. She did not care for humans at all - and she cared even less for Cold Ones. Yet there was something in the man's face that demanded that she protect him, as if he were to be someone important to her someday.

He was not her Beloved, that she could tell. There were no electric shocks when they touched, no instant attraction or lust to be felt. No, the feelings she felt towards this man were more along the lines of a motherly sort, the need to nurture him and protect him from the world.

She knew that in the moment that she saw this man, something in her changed. Eternally.


	2. Chapter 1: Get Up

**Disclaimer: I'm Holiday Thorne, a** ** _FANFICTION_** **writer, so I don't know why you would think that I own** ** _Twilight_** **, especially when the story is on a website called** **. But if I have to say it, I have to say it. I DON'T OWN** ** _Twilight_** **.**

* * *

 _ **Daybreak**_

 **Chapter 1  
 _Get Up_  
**

 ** _If you feel so empty,  
_** ** _So used up, so let down . . .  
_** ** _If you feel so angry,  
_** ** _So ripped off, so stepped on,  
_** ** _You're not the only one.  
_** ** _Refusing to back down . . .  
_** ** _You're not the only one.  
_** ** _So get up!  
_** ** _-Riot, Three Days Grace_**

 _Present time . . .  
-With Carmilla-_

Gritting her teeth, Carmilla LeNauf pulled out of the driveway of the Victorian-style house that she had lived in for several years; it had just been sold to this lovely elderly couple who were looking for a house to live out the rest of their lives in, and though she knew they both didn't have very long left, she knew there was no one more perfect to buy the house from her. They were kind, but she didn't like them; they irked her.

Or rather, the fact that they were buying the house from her was what annoyed her. Perhaps it was the fact that once the house sold, there was nothing left to keep her here, in Buffalo, New York.

Whatever it was, she and Griffin were officially moving, away from the cloudy city they had made their home for a while to a town all the way across the country. It was called Forks, Washington, and it was almost as overcast as Buffalo - near constant, in fact, which would be a good thing for the both of them; they rather hated spending a large fraction of their money on high-level sunscreen constantly.

While Griffin had never been to the small town in the Olympic Peninsula, Carmilla had lived there on several occasions, all some centuries apart from each other. She was rather fond of the town, surprising considering that she did not enjoy sharing territory with other supernatural creatures - especially hostile ones.

While she had explained on multiple occasions to the Wolf-Shifters on the nearby res that she was not a Cold One as they thought when she had first met them, they still did not trust her and forced her to sign this treaty that agreed she wouldn't go on to their land, and they wouldn't expose her in return. She was just fine with that arrangement, and she made friendly with the chief of the pack from about six decades ago, named Ephraim Black; he was careful around her, yes, but he also trusted her - something that previous chiefs hadn't. He actually warned her about a new treaty with a coven of "tame" Cold Ones, knowing how much she hated them. She was just as skeptical of the Cold Ones as the Shifters were, and she left the town the very next day.

And now she was coming back, though not exactly willingly. And she was bringing a companion.

"What are you thinking about, Milla?" Griffin asked suddenly, and Carmilla turned to look at him, lowering the sunglasses she had on to block out the sun that had decided to poke out from between the cover of gray clouds. She hoped that it would get the hint and lose its moral, disappearing behind the nearly overcast cover again - where it belongs.

She remained silent for a moment, considering her words as she turned on to another street. At last, she decided on an answer. "I'm thinking about Forks." She brought the fourth-gen Subaru Legacy to a clean standstill at the stop sign.

"And?"

As usual, Griffin easily read her, knowing there was more that she wanted to say. He had always been like that since she had saved him from the car accident that would have taken his life had she not changed him; it was his special ability - reading people's emotions, minds, and intentions. There were always exceptions to his power (namely her), but no one could block out his power entirely; it was special in that way, and she wondered often if that was why she had been called to change him - sensing his potential, his innate abilities.

"We'll have to visit the Treaty Line when we get there," she continued finally, turning on to the next road. "They'll want you to sign the Treaty, too."

"Assuming they're still there," Griffin commented, reclining in his seat next to her with one leg crossed over the other. He wore sunglasses very similar to hers, though they were tinted red instead of black; she preferred simple things over the extravagance that Griffin enjoyed having in his life.

"They are," she said, shooting him a disparaging look. "I've been keeping watch over them."

"For Ephraim," Griffin guessed easily, smirking in triumph at his creator as she glared at him. He chuckled, a light, bell-like sound, and her eyes narrowed dangerously at him.

"Shut up, Griffin," she growled. "I did _not_ have a crush on him; he was just a good friend who actually trusted me, despite being what we are. Besides, he imprinted on my friend, Martha, remember?"

The dark-haired vampire snorted, though he grinned at her; his earthy-brown eyes twinkled with mischief to match the dimpled smile he wore. "Are you nervous because those 'tame'" - he formed quotation marks in the air and made a face at the word - "Cold Ones might have come back?" he asked, the mirth draining from his expression in a matter of seconds.

"I suppose that's part of it," Carmilla mused, turning again. They were almost there, and then would come the difficult part.

Griffin narrowed his eyes at her, irritation burning hot in the polished leather-colored irises. "What else is there, Carmilla?" he demanded, and she flinched slightly at the sound of her full name coming from his lips.

He never used her full name unless he was angry with her, and while she could deal with being the enemy, the bane of someone's existence, she could not stand to have her companion angry with her - no matter how long it was. He was the only one she trusted with everything - _everything_. To have him angry with her was to have the point of her long-lived existence to blink out of existence.

"I don't want to leave Buffalo," she admitted, looking down at the steering wheel as she stopped at another stop sign. "It isn't usually this hard to leave some place; I don't know why it's so hard now."

Griffin's angered look melted into calm understanding, and he smiled softly at her, something that would cause any other girl's heart to skip several beats; as it was, her heart didn't beat much at all, not unless she had fed recently. His features, those of an African American despite the edge of sculpted perfection in his sharp jawline and broad nose and full lips, mimicked the change in emotion he felt, flickering from his current façade of an African American teen named Jaylon Allard living with his cousin, older by a few months, Rosalyn Hawthorne to his original appearance - from before she changed him.

When Carmilla had first met Griffin, he was only a few months old; she was friends with his parents, Terence and Anya Newman, having met the two at a dinner party a few years prior. Anya had called Carmilla, Selene Reyes at the time, to celebrate her first-born surviving; when Griffin was first born, he was incredibly weak, having been born almost three whole months before he was due, and so they had to keep him in the hospital for a while. The doctors doubted that he would survive, but Griffin managed to pull through.

Carmilla came to the Newmans' home, a small two-bedroom house in the middle of the bad neighborhood of Baton Rouge, Louisiana, and when she first held Griffin, she saw the future of the babe lying in her arms; because of her existence, she would be in danger. She left town immediately, pretending to get into a car wreck that ended her life, and she did her best not to look back.

About the time that Griffin turned 17, she returned, sensing a disturbance into the city that she had staked out for the past decade and more than a half. It turned out that a Cold One was hunting Griffin, believing him to possess utterly delectable blood, and though she managed to stop the Cold One, the boy she had promised herself to watch over was badly injured in a car accident. She changed him to save his life, and he had been her companion ever since.

"Is it your instincts?" Griffin asked softly, his voice taking on the low, silvery tones of the voice that accompanied his original form _after_ the Change.

The Change not only gave the human it was applied on to retractable fangs, a thirst for blood, heightened senses, supernatural speed and strength, immortality, healing, shapeshifting, and psychic powers, but also inhuman beauty and perfection - in every way.

It was a bit to get used to, especially at first, but Carmilla had long since gotten used to using the beauty and perfection to her advantage, especially since humanity has always been fond of pretty things.

She shrugged, seemingly nonchalant, but she knew that he could see the tension in her body as she moved.

"I don't know," she replied, her dark, sculpted brows knitting above her almond-shaped eyes.

As much to distract her as to know, Griffin interrupted her worrying. "Milla, are we going to use a crash or something else?" he asked, referring to the disappearing act they would perform every time they left a town or city behind.

"Already thought of it," Carmilla answered, secretly thankful for the change of subject, and she brought the car to a halt next to the bank of a deep, swift river.

"Just a regular disappearing act?" Griffin inquired, arching a shapely brow above his eye. "No tricks, no blood, no . . . fun? Just . . . gone?"

She didn't reply as she bustled around the car, and he sighed in disappointment at what he thought was her confirmation.

"Lame," he huffed, and she couldn't help but chuckle to herself as she began gathering bags of fake blood.

His breath quickened for a moment; he didn't think of Carmilla as more than a mother figure and a close friend, but she would still sometimes stun the air right out of him. Her laughter reminded him of the tinkling of wind chimes, or the trilling of a set of bells; it was gentle, ethereal, graceful. And she was always so beautiful, with features that looked to be carved from porcelain or marble; a heart-shaped face, almond-shaped eyes that always seemed to be legions deep - deep enough to drown even the most experienced of swimmers, high cheekbones - high enough to resemble elfin features, a nose shape known as the duchess - straight and gentle, with an aural beauty, full lips that looked to be made from petals of roses - soft and brightly colored, and a soft and gentle coloring to match her delicate, elegant features.

"I didn't say yes," she said, bringing the bags of blood around to the front, where he could see them. "We're going to get into a car accident, drive into the river, and never be seen again."

"Sweet," he breathed, yet again stunned by the beauty she possessed.

She was always tall, no matter what part she was playing; she'd once told him that she couldn't stand being short, and though he hadn't believed her statement at the time, he more than believed it at this point. In addition to being tall, she was always slender but curvy, often with an hourglass figure though she would never be overweight or unhealthy. She preferred to be elfin as far as features go, and sometimes she would take on a stereotypical elfin appearance when they entered certain towns; he wondered idly if she would take on an elfin appearance for Forks.

They set up for the staged accident that would take the lives of Rosalyn Hawthorne and Jaylon Allard quickly, using their augmented vampiric speed, and as they moved in and out of each other's jet streams of air, they discussed the personas they would take on while living in Forks. All too soon, though, they finished, and an explosion ripped through the air, accompanied with huge balls of flame.

* * *

 _-With Edward-_

Edward Cullen laid on his couch. It was wide, made of black leather that was stitched together by masterful hands, and with his alabaster skin tone compared to the ink-black of the leather, he appeared to be nothing more than a specter in the night, albeit an attractive one.

His eyes were closed, his breathing steady and relaxed, but he was not asleep; he could not sleep. Instead, he merely lay there, his arms propped beneath his head, and meditated on his own thoughts and blocking out the others.

It was both a blessing and a curse, he thought, to be able to hear the thoughts of all around him at all times. He would know, even before Alice - the seer of the family, if someone suspected his family for what they were, but he would never have the peace that his siblings, his classmates, his parents, took for granted, the peace of having a mind that was silent - save their own thoughts.

Ever since he had awoken as a vampire, he had been able to hear the thoughts of others around him, and though he could block the thoughts out, at least somewhat, he would always hear the whispers of their innermost secrets.

Out of courtesy, he attempted not to hear the thoughts of his 'family,' but it was impossible to completely block them out. His family was completely used to the lack of privacy about their own thoughts by this point, but his upbringing had taught him to try his best to honor their privacy, though it was more difficult than it seemed. He wondered, idly, if it was worth the effort, but he quickly reprimanded himself for his deprecating thoughts; he would do his best to block out the thoughts of those around him until the day his meager, pointless existence ended.

He absentmindedly pictured going to the Volturi, the royalty of the vampire world, and asking them to end him, but before he could wonder too much about those kinds of thoughts, the thoughts of Alice, his pixie-like sister with the ability to see into the future, interrupted him.

 _Edward!_

"What is it, Alice?" he murmured quickly, using his vampire speed to speak the words at a brisk speed.

 _I had a vision,_ his sister replied in her thoughts, in that bell-like tone she used to speak. _Please. It's important._

He gave his affirmation, a promise that he would watch, and images poured into his mind, the vision that Alice had spoken of.

 _A girl - nay, a young woman - climbing out of a chrome-black Aston Martin V8 Vantage, with thorn-like designs airbrushed in vivid crimson over the entire vehicle. She wore a vividly violet dress that came down to just below her knees; the design of the dress was simple, sleeveless with a form-fitting cut and a V-shaped neckline. The dress accented her hourglass figure, and she also wore a silver trenchcoat that reached just below the ending of her violet dress. On her feet, she wore silver stilettos to match her trenchcoat._

 _"Home sweet home," the young woman murmured after a moment, though the words had a bitter and sarcastic edge to them._

The sound of her voice snapped Edward out of the vision for a moment; it was musical, like a mix between wind chimes and bells, and she had an elegant accent - or rather a mix of them. Her voice, the myriad of foreign accents that it was, was mostly and foremost Australian, but there were undertones of flowing Swedish, elegant posh-British, smooth Italian, and alluring Spanish to name a few.

 _Edward,_ Alice called again, and he was sucked back into the vision.

 _The young woman, this time wearing an aqua blue T-shirt that was both form-fitting and comfortable, a pair of light, ash gray skinny jeans, and black combat boots, climbed out of the Aston Martin V8 Vantage from the scene before. She had a dark purple messenger bag slung over her shoulder, and she shut the open door with a gentle hip bump, facing the direction in which they were watching her._

 _Her features were blurred, as though mist had decided to cling to her face and disguise her from view, but from what could be made out of her features, she was beautiful, in an ethereal way. Her beauty even rivaled that of Rosalie, one of the most beautiful of their kind, and it already took his breath away; what would she look like, he wondered, if he were to see her face without the blur of the mist?_

Suddenly the illusion of the vision of his sister peeled away, leaving him gasping for unnecessary breaths in his room. The clarity of the vision Alice had had, the unnatural beauty of the mysterious young woman, the way her features were blurred out, it confused him; perhaps worse of all, though, was the fact that he had a deeply felt, strong pull to this beautiful stranger, the kind that his family had described when meeting their mates.

 _Edward, whenever I try to see her face or her name, all I see is that mist,_ Alice said suddenly. _It's the same thing I see when someone hasn't made a decision._

His mouth fell open. That meant . . .

 _Do you understand what that means, Edward?_ she continued. _Whoever that girl is, there is something very different about her - something . . . unnatural. Even for us._

He remained silent, listening to his sister rant.

 _But she's important. Very important._


End file.
